You Need Wings to Fly
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Perhaps George needs to let go of Fred, to let him be free.


_You Need Wings to Fly_

George rushed through the streets, his hands deep in his pockets. Snow began to heavily fall, each flake gingerly making its way towards earth, drawn by an unquestionable force. He could see the taciturn moon peek through the cracks in clouds. He couldn't exactly recall his reasons for being in the crowded streets in the first place. Even with hundreds of witches and wizards bustling past him he felt lonely. It was as if a vacuum had opened within him. A void had split, creating an empty, bleak space he could barely fathom.

Nonetheless, George had something to do. He brought his muffler higher up on his face, hiding his freckled nose. His hair caught the specks of snow, glittering faintly. As he continued to trudge by, he remembered where he was going. That's right, he was nearing his birthday. Something else important was happening though, wasn't it?

George stopped and frowned. People brushed against him, hardly noticing that he had stopped. He looked at the time. Good, he still had a few minutes to get to his location. He nodded as though to confirm something and walked on.

A group had gathered before one of the shops. A broom stood on the display case. George gazed at it, momentarily forgetting again what his destination was. As he watched, he saw, in the reflection, another red head. He tried to focus on the face and found it eerily similar to his own. At first he thought it really was his, but the face turned and looked at him.

That's right. It was Fred's birthday too. George grinned. "A nice broom, isn't it?" he said.

Fred nodded. He wore similar clothing, his gloved hands swinging at his sides. The crowd ignored them creating a space around them, a bubble of privacy.

"Aren't you going to the birthday party?" George asked, unable for some reason to look too long at Fred's eyes. He felt there was something missing there, too. "Mum won't like it if we're too late."

"George?"

"What is it?"

Fred sighed, lowering his gaze. His lips were turned in a sloppy smile. "If we could fly without brooms, wouldn't that be great?"

"Well, you'd save on money since you won't have to buy a broom, that's right. And it's freeing, isn't it?" George felt confused. His brother wasn't one to dampen the mood with melancholy.

"Don't you need wings to fly?" Fred asked, perking up. His eyes were alive. There was an idea brewing in his mind. George could sense the gears shifting.

"If someone could make those…" George grinned broadly.

"Then you could sell them!"

George was about to agree, but stopped. Fred said "you". Each gear shifted in to place. Each feather meshed to create a wing, an avian, broad wing to send a human flying.

"Fred…" George said slowly. His brother was dead. His brother had been dead for a long time. He looked at Fred, his eyes wet with budding tears.

Fred gazed at him evenly. The snow continued to fall. The snow would fall forever. George didn't care if it did, if it meant being with his brother for just a little while longer. George reached out, ready to embrace his brother, but stopped. Fred had raised his hand.

"You need to let me fly. I'll find my wings in good time, but you have to let me go. It's like I have these chains around me. I'm flattered you hold on so steadfast, but loosen up a little. You can't mourn me forever."

George's mouth felt dry. How could he let go of his other half? Shaking his head madly, he started to argue, but realized his brother was no longer before him. Even the crowd had vanished. He remained alone on a nameless street, devoid of life save for the soft whispering wind. Before him the display case remained. The broom was shown off behind a thick layer of glass.

He reached to grab it. The dream dissolved. In a moment he was awake in his bed. There was no snow. It was April the first. It really was his birthday, and he had to spend it alone. George rubbed his head and wiped the tears from his eyes.

"You need wings to fly, Fred…" George repeated uneasily. "But where will you go?"

* * *

_I do not own the marvelous Harry Potter universe. _


End file.
